Reincarnation
by Kagetora no Tsume
Summary: Tauriel is the reincarnation of Thranduil's late wife, and he is the only one who seems to notice. AU
1. Chapter 1

He tries to tell himself that she is perhaps what their daughter would have looked like, had they gotten the chance to raise another child, but there is an important difference between sharing some of her mother's features and _having_ her mother's features. And there is no doubt in his mind that Tauriel looks exactly like her.

There are no differences that he can see in the child's appearance. She has the same fiery hair, the same bright green eyes, the same high cheekbones and delicate jawline, and even the same light freckling across her pale skin. The child's personality has yet to fully develop, but he can already see hints of it - curiosity, kindness, brashness, a flaming temper to match her hair. Even the way she tilts her head slightly as she watches him walk past is hauntingly familiar. The small cut slowly dripping blood down her neck, in the same spot where...

A chill runs down his spine. It is too much. He waves the guards away, telling them to bring her to the healers.

He will give her to one of the noble families, let them raise her as their daughter. Perhaps even send a messenger to Lady Galadriel in Lorien - she is kind, she will not turn the child away - and have the young elleth removed from his kingdom entirely.

But as he sits at his desk, heart throbbing in agony at the piercing green eyes that had held his gaze without a trace of fear, his hand shakes too hard to pen a letter.

No, he will keep her here. She will be his own ward. He cannot bear to let her out of his sight...not again.

Never again.


	2. Chapter 2

It is strange to watch Legolas lift the girl onto his shoulders and walk her around when Thranduil has seen this scenario played in reverse. Legolas' mother used to carry him like that, the little boy's hands woven in her red hair, but now it is the small elleth that sits on his son's shoulders, her hands tangled around blonde strands as she laughs, carefree and joyous. It stirs something strange within him and he turns away, unwilling to explore the knot of confused emotions that has been growing in his gut since taking Tauriel in.

He has very pointedly distanced himself from the girl, leaving Legolas or the nurse to watch her. It is too bizarre to look at this miniature version of his beloved running about, and he finds that cannot bear to be in her presence for long. His son, who cannot remember his mother's appearance, is not bothered by the girl. Likewise, the rest of the court takes no notice of his wife's clone wandering the halls of his palace.

Thranduil is taken by surprise by a tug on his cloak, and looks down into a pair of bottomless green eyes.

"My Lord!" she smiles, and Thranduil's heart catches in his throat so hard it _burns_. Too close, she is _far_ too close, and all he wants to do is take that beautiful face in his hands and...

A second later, however, she is snatched up into Legolas' arms, his son gently reprimanding her for tugging on his clothes - what the boy has obviously misinterpreted the problem to be. Thranduil forces himself through a few deep breaths before giving Legolas a nod and turning in a whirl of blonde hair and silver fabric.

He hears Tauriel call a goodbye after him and bites his tongue so hard it almost bleeds as she uses his first name with brash familiarity. Legolas begins a flustered lecture, which she laughs at, and Thranduil retreat to his throne room.

He needs a drink.

Or three.


	3. Chapter 3

She is made captain of the guard.

It is a great honor, especially for one so young, and she is well deserving of the post. Legolas offers his congratulations and marvels aloud at the speed with which she picked up her battle techniques, how naturally she fights. The guards all agree that she is gifted.

Thranduil knows better. He recognizes every parry, every twirling dodge that sends her red hair flying, the confident, carefree draw of her bow. She is working with a borrowed skillset, one from another lifetime, and he has to bite his tongue and simply nod his congratulations as the girl flashes him a huge grin that makes his heart _ache_.

He has tried reminding himself that Tauriel is her own person, that the young elleth merely _looks_ like Her. (And talks like her, and fights like her, and smiles like her, and tilts her head like her, and clutches her tunic nervously like her...) However, in trying to differentiate between the two he only notices more and more similarities, so he settles once again for avoidance, drilling the word "ward" into his head like a mantra whenever thoughts of the red-head pop up.

Thranduil offers his congratulations to Tauriel, allows a single moment of weakness and tells her that he is proud of her and knows she is destined for great things, and then strategically retreats before anyone can see the tears gathering behind his icy eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Thranduil has lived through a lot. He has seen kinslayings, war, dragonfire, death, destruction, and the worst the world has to offer. There is not much that ruffles him anymore, but when he first notices that Legolas appears to be developing romantic feelings for Tauriel, he is almost sick. His son cannot possibly know the bounds he is crossing, but Thranduil knows, and he decides to put an end to it before it can start.

Talking to his son will be of no use. Even if he would listen and obey without question, the boy cannot control his heart. And indeed, how could he ask his son not to love her when he himself could not resist? So instead, he calls Tauriel to his side, to listen to her report.

It had seemed like such an easy task when he planned it out, but now that she is standing before him, looking up at him through those impossibly long eyelashes, he feels his resolve falter. He addresses her, his voice cold, and it is only a short while before she is drawn into a brief, if respectful, argument. She has been getting bolder as of late, not afraid to question him, and he wonders if that is a trait she gets from her time as his wife or if it is bred from the free rein he has given her these past few centuries.

There is only so much avoiding the subject that can be done, and so he abruptly changes topic, picking a safe lead-in to call her back as she begins to walk away.

"Legolas said you fought well today," he starts, and that is easy enough. The next part, considerably less so. "He has grown very fond of you."

"I assure you, My Lord," she says quickly, as if scolded, "Legolas thinks of me as no more than Captain of the guard."

"Perhaps he did once," he starts, crossing the room to pour himself a glass of wine because Valar knows he is going to need it. "Now, I am not so sure."

He watches from the corner of his eye as emotions flicker across her face, her lips parted in shock as she searches for words.

"I...do not think you would allow your son-" and it is always a struggle to hear her say "your" and not "our" when referring to the boy- "to pledge himself to a lowly Silvan elf."

And here he almost has to bite back a laugh, because did he not pledge himself, body and soul, to her in a past life? But she does not remember this, and so he murmurs "No, you are right, I would not," hoping to end the discussion. He does not miss the pain that crosses her features at this, but he must push forward. "Still, he cares about you."

He turns to look over his shoulder at her, the glass of Dorwinion held like medicine in his grasp, and says in parting "Do not give him hope where there is none."

She hesitates for a moment, and he turns his back, unable to watch her expression. His fingers twitch with the longing to go smooth her battle-mussed hair back and kiss her frown away, but he cannot allow that, and so he settles for throttling the stem of his goblet as he takes a deep drink. There is the brush of cloth and a murmured "My Lord" as she leaves, and Thranduil refills his glass.

Legolas may not be able to direct his heart, but if Tauriel can do damage control from her end, perhaps this will not be a problem for much longer. He takes another drink, hoping that this will be the last of the issue.


	5. Chapter 5

The dwarf.

Thranduil flings his goblet at the wall, rage clawing at his heart. She has run off, disobeyed him and taken Legolas with her, because of a _dwarf_!?

Enough, he decides, storming to his desk. He will do what he should have done centuries ago. No longer will he let this reckless and foolish girl take up residence in his shattered, crystalline heart. He will get rid of her.

The command is shockingly simple, barely a sentence worth of words scribbled onto flimsy parchment, but the weight it holds is life altering. At least, it will be for the elleth whose name he scratches onto the bottom of the page like a curse.

Tauriel is banished.

He hands the note to his courier and stalks up the steps to his throne, throwing himself down in it. The problem has finally been taken care of. He can return to his life, to his kingdom, to his rule...

To his empty bed, his motherless son, a captain-less guard, halls that will no longer echo with her bright laugh, walks through the kingdom that will no longer give him so much as a glimpse of her beauty. He will return to his empty memories.

The weight of his action catches up with him then, along with the pain, and with a soft wail he curls up into himself and sobs.

He will never see her again.


	6. Chapter 6

"You think your life worth more than theirs? When there is no love in it? There is _no_...love...in _you_ ," she says, her voice dripping like ice.

The words pierce him and cause far more agony than her arrow ever could.

For a second he is dumbstruck. How could she stand before him and accuse him of not having any love, when he has burned with nothing but love for her in the years since her death? When he has lived through endless agony because of _love_ for her? He slowly looks away, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. The foolish thing, why does she refuse to remember?!

In a rare act of passionate rage, he whirls back to face her, drawing his sword as he does, and cleaves her bow in two.

Her eyes go wide, the wood slipping through delicate fingers that are numb from both his blow and her shock, and it takes him all of half a second to have his sword at her throat.

"What do you know of love?" he hisses, "Nothing! What you feel for that dwarf, _is not real!_ "

She looks up at him, her eyes filled with tears and fright, and he feels his stomach twist.

"You think it is love?" he asks her, willing her to understand, to _just wake UP_ , "Are you ready to die for it?"

She does not reply at first, nor does she get the chance to, because suddenly there is the hiss of steel on steel and Legolas is there, at her side, pushing his sword away.

"If you harm her you will have to kill me," his son spits, and Thranduil feels hollow terror course through him.

No.

No, Legolas does not understand. Thranduil could not harm her, no matter how she enraged him. She is his One, he would lay down his life for her. He almost had, once.

He wants to tell his son that he had only meant to shock her, perhaps frighten her into realizing her mistake where her banishment did not, _to wake her up and make her remember_ , but the words catch in his throat, choking him, and he looks aside, trying not to gasp for breath as his chest constricts agonizingly.

He is left winded and speechless as his son turns to Tauriel and says "I will go with you", and the two run into the fray of battle once again.

The agony is too much. He cannot bear it.

It is a few good moments before he is aware of one of his Captains calling his name, and finally he is able to draw himself up, sheath his sword, and give a quiet command to reinforce the army of men.

He begins striding towards Ravenhill, but is pulled into the fight before he can follow. Orcs fall to his twin swords like leaves in a windstorm. His thoughts repeat like a mantra in his head: I need to get to Legolas. I need to get to Her. I need to save them.

When at last he is able to escape the city, the battle is nearing an end, and he rushes up the hill, past the bodies of dwarves, men, and elves alike. There is a dwarf sitting on the bloodied rocks, exhausted and battle shocked, and when Thranduil demands to know if he saw two young elves pass by he merely points toward the tower.

He checks every body that he passes, begging the Valar that it is not Legolas or Tauriel among the dead. He does not think his heart can bear losing Her a second time, he cannot bear the thought of losing his son.

To his relief, Legolas greets him near the top of the tower, but his son is despondent.

"I...cannot stay," the boy tells him, and Thranduil wants to cry. But he is a King, and so instead he replies in a logical, clipped manner that he has spent centuries perfecting.

"Where will you go?"

There is the flicker of hesitation, and Legolas admits that he does not know.

He hears himself tell Legolas to go North, through the forests, and to seek out a ranger named Strider.

"Legolas," he calls, feeling his throat constrict but forcing the words regardless, "Your mother loved you. More than anything. More than life."

They part, and Thranduil manages a fond smile for the boy despite the fact that the snow-covered stones are swimming glassily in his vision. He turns to the passageway where his son had appeared, and takes a breath to steady himself.

He finds her kneeling over the body of the dwarf. It feels as if he has been struck in the chest, unable to catch his breath as she looks up at him with agony in her eyes and begs him to take the love from her, because the pain is too great.

How he wishes that he could.

"Why does it hurt so much?" she wails when he does nothing.

"Because it was real," he replies. For once, he does not have to think about his answer. He knows this pain well, there is no mistaking it. It is not for him, not in this lifetime, but the pain is there.

He fights his tears back with every ounce of his strength. He has not cried for her since she died, and he will not allow himself to shed tears for her now. Not even if she is collapsed at his feet, consumed by grief that he cannot free her from.

 _It is your turn to mourn, my love_. _I cannot help you through this._

He stays by her side until the sun sets and the dwarves come to fetch the body of their prince. Then, and only then, does he let himself slip. He takes her into his arms, holds her as she sobs, and watches the dwarves as they retreat with the body of their kin. He sends a warning glare at the few whose looks linger questioningly on Tauriel, and they are quick to turn their eyes back to their task.

"Let us go home," he whispers into her hair, feeling her hands clenched in the front of his tunic, her small body pressed to his chestplate, "Come with me. Let us both leave this horrid place."

She allows him to lead her from the battlefield.


	7. Chapter 7

"Why do you keep me here if you hate me so?"

Thranduil actually drops the goblet he is holding, belatedly grateful that he had finished off its contents a moment earlier. The echo of the metal hitting stone rings through the small room, and he slowly turns to face her.

Tauriel stands before him, tears streaking her cheeks, fists knotted into the material of her tunic at her sides. Her hair floats loosely about her head like a halo of fire, and her green eyes pierce him with a sharp, clear grief that chases his breath from his lungs in a shuddering exhale. When he does nothing but stare at her, Tauriel takes a breath, the sound closer to a sob than he can bear.

"Why not just send me away and be done with it?" she asks, her voice a rough whisper.

Thranduil's hands tremble as he takes a hesitant step forward, then another. It has been a few months since the battle, and while he is eternally grateful that he did not have to watch helplessly as she faded over her feelings for the dwarf, he has not been able to bring himself to look at her. Seeing her grief and knowing that it is for another is too much for even him.

"Tauriel," he whispers, reaching out for her. The girl turns her head from his touch.

"You have always hated me," she says in a voice that is strained with tears, "you can barely bring yourself to look at me half of the time, so _why_ -" She has to pause here, take a gulp of breath before continuing. " _Why_ do you insist that I stay?"

And what is there that he can say to that?

She watches him expectantly, but there is nothing he can tell her that will satisfy her question, no way he can explain to her that she is his One without sounding mad or scaring her off. So he remains quiet, pleading her with his eyes not to be upset. To understand that there are reasons behind his actions, mad as they might seem.

Her lip trembles and she closes her eyes for a moment as her composure almost slips entirely away. When she looks up at him again, her gaze is cold and hard.

"I take my leave, then, My Lord."

She turns to walk away but he is faster and has closed the distance between them, grabbing her wrist before she can take even a single step.

"Forgive me," he says, and his voice is rough and broken, "Forgive me, Tauriel. I do not know how to love."

She does not turn back around, but he sees her shoulders deflate.

"Please..." he whispers, and yes, he is begging, but he cannot bring himself to care, "please, do not leave me."

"How could you possibly want me to stay when I can see your eyes fill with grief every time you look at me?" she asks, and he feels that he deserves her harsh tone.

"Because it would grieve me more to never see you again," he says, and if his voice breaks in the middle of the sentence, neither of them decides to notice.

She is silent for a long moment, and he is left listening to his heart thud against his ribcage. At last, she turns to face him.

"Why?"

The word is small and broken on her tongue, and he edges a half pace closer. She closes her eyes but does not otherwise react when he reaches a hand to cradle her cheek, the simple action being the most intimate thing he's ever done. He cannot find words to explain, so he throws caution to the wind. In a move as reckless as any she's ever made, he leans to brush a feather-light kiss against her forehead.

When he draws back, shock and confusion are warring for prominence in her expression, and he brushes his thumb along her cheek.

"You are dear to me in ways that you cannot possibly understand," he whispers, "Please, Tauriel, do not leave."

She looks at the ground, and he lets his fingers drop from her cheek. Her face is troubled as she considers his plea, debates it with herself.

"Tell me," she says at last, and Thranduil can only stare at her in confusion until she elaborates. "You said I was dear to you in ways I could not understand. Then explain it to me. Make me understand. And then I will stay."

He closes his eyes, does not care when he feels a tear dampen the corner of his lashes.

"You are Her."

He can practically feel her confusion, and he lets out a trembling breath.

"My wife. You are Her. She was killed a century before you were brought to me. If I am to believe correctly, her death was the day before your birth. You are Her, Tauriel. Reincarnated. I-"

His voice breaks and he presses his free hand over his eyes. He sounds mad. Completely, utterly mad as he speaks the words aloud, and his emotions have shattered the careful prison he had spent centuries building around them. He takes a gasping breath, willing the burning tears to stop, but of course they do not listen to him. They never have.

"I cannot lose you again," he all but whimpers, and then his throat cinches closed and will allow him to speak no more. He fights his emotions, pouring every ounce of his willpower into making the damned tears _stop_ but he has held them back for far too long, and they will no longer be contained.

His breath catches sharply in his throat as he feels warmth press to his chest, feels Tauriel's arms twine around him, and suddenly he is surrounded by Her scent, silken hair tickling his neck as she tucks her head beneath his chin. And there, standing with his eyes closed in the middle of his throne room with her pressed close, it is as if She had never left him.

His hands fall slowly to return her embrace, and he notices that he is trembling. She, however, is calm. More calm than he has ever seen her before, as if he has lifted some great burden from her.

"I will not leave you, My Lord," she says softly, and the only thing he can do is crush her into his embrace and cry like a child in her arms.


End file.
